


don't they know (no means no)

by hopeless_hope



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, College, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, No Means No, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Underage Drinking, Unwanted Advances, Whump, Worried Tony Stark, aye another vent, capiche?, which is the same thing as not saying yes, who's even surprised anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 14:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16599677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_hope/pseuds/hopeless_hope
Summary: "I kept trying to shift away, and I thought that maybe if I was obvious enough, he’d take the hint and stop? But he didn’t? I didn’t want to cause a scene, because there were a lot of people, but then his – his hand went under the hem of my shorts, and – and all I could think of was Skip,” Peter says breathlessly, voice cracking at the end.orIn which Peter blames himself for a situation that wasn't his fault, and Tony is there to pick up the pieces.





	don't they know (no means no)

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Unwanted touches of a sexual nature. Kind of? Just unwanted touches is general and a brief reference to past rape.

He’s not exactly sure how he’s ended up here. I mean, he can trace the events of the night from the beginning to now, but it’s all weird and disjointed and doesn’t make a whole lot of sense if he thinks too much about it.

It was supposed to be a casual night in.

Peter, Ned, and MJ were all home from college on a fall break, glad to be able to relax after midterms and reconnect. They spent most of the day walking around the city before settling at MJ’s house to watch John Mulaney, taking advantage of MJ’s parents being out of town for a few days.

Ned sat on the floor, casually scrolling through memes, while Peter and MJ sprawled out on the couch, stealing chips off a plate. When the show ended, they just stayed there quietly for a few minutes.

MJ was the first to break the silence.

“We’re lame,” she states, and Peter huffs out a life.

“Bitch, we _been_ knew that.” Ned makes a noise of agreement without looking up from his phone.

MJ sighs longingly. “We have the house to ourselves, and what do we do? Watch stand-up comedy and look at memes.”

Peter looks at her defensively. “Okay, but to be fair, it’s _John Mulaney._ He’s the best.”

MJ rolls her eyes. “Well, _duh._ You’re missing the point! We have the house to ourselves, Parker. The potential to do whatever we want is through the roof.”

“So…” Peter says slowly. “We could make a fort using every single sheet and blanket in the house with zero repercussions?” Ned looks away from his phone at that, eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.

MJ, however, closes her eyes in exasperation. “I cannot _believe_ I’m friends with you losers. You are literally in college.”

“Oh, come on,” Peter grins. “Admit it, you’re friends with us _because_ we’re losers.”

MJ whacks him with a pillow. “I was thinking more along the lines of: get shitfaced.”

Peter’s eyes widen, and Ned looks at her skeptically. “Oh yeah? With what alcohol?

MJ shrugs. “I know a guy who could get us some easily. If you guys are actually interested.”

Ned looks enthusiastic at the thought, but Peter’s significantly more doubtful. “I don’t know…”

“Come on, Peter!” Ned urges. “We’re in college now. Pretty much everyone drinks anyway. Besides, when are we ever gonna get another chance like this?”

“When we’re twenty-one and have our own apartment?” Peter deadpans.

“You don’t even have to drink!” Ned compromises. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Two hours later, and Peter’s actually having a good time. He’s not really sure how, but somehow, he got roped into participating in a drinking game, and because of his fast metabolism, he’s only experiencing a light buzz.

Ned is a complete lightweight, it turns out, so he’s already hysterically laughing at god-knows-what, while MJ looks on in utter amusement. Her friend Brendan, who graciously supplied them all with drinks, sits with an arm slung over her shoulder.

Peter’s not sure how he feels about Brendan. The guy graduated two years before them, but he was a section leader in band and absolutely notorious for sleeping around. He has this charm about him that makes Peter feel small and uncomfortable.

The game finishes, and Peter gets up and steps out of the circle, heading to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He decides to raid MJ’s pantry too, taking out another bag of chips and pouring them on a plate.

He hears the doorbell ring and makes his way back to the living area to find that more people have arrived, including about half of the old decathlon team and a couple other faces Peter only vaguely recognizes from their graduating class.

He opts out of the next round, content to just watch the happenings and not too keen on being heavily intoxicated around people he doesn’t know very well.

A few minutes into the next game, he’s on his phone idly scrolling through memes, when he feels the couch sink down next to him.

“You’re not going to join?”

Peter looks up to find Brendan sitting _very_ close to him, looking at him with handsome blue eyes and a smiling pushing at the corners of his mouth.

“Uh, no. Nope. I mean, I just prefer watching, you know?” Peter stammers. Brendan nods understandingly.

“That’s fair. Are you okay?” he asks, studying Peter intently.

“Yeah,” Peter says in surprise. “Of course.”

Brendan purses his lips. “Alright, just making sure,” he says, and then pats Peter’s leg before jumping back into the circle of people sitting on the floor. Peter tries not to flinch at the touch.

By the end of the game, Peter is pretty much completely sober, and everyone else is very much not. MJ, he notes, is a lot more in control of herself than most of them, but even she’s a lot looser, rough edges smoothed out by alcohol.

They all move to the couches, piling in beside each other, and Peter finds himself pressed up against the arm of the couch with Brandon pressing in close next to him.

“Are you having fun?” Brendan asks, slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders, and Peter shifts uncomfortably.

Peter has always been a very tactile person. But ever since Skip Westcott happened, he’s much more reserved with who’s allowed to touch him and hates unexpected or unfamiliar touch. It takes everything in him not to shrug the arm off. But Brendan is nice, and he provided drinks, and Peter really just doesn’t want to offend anyone.

“Yup,” Peter says shortly, hoping that puts an end to the conversation before it even really starts.

Brendan nudges him, thumb rubbing into Peter’s shoulder now, and Peter’s spidey senses are screaming at the unwelcome touch.

“You don’t seem very into it,” Brendan n comments, and Peter just shrugs.

“I’m not really a party person, I guess,” Peter mumbles.

“Gotcha. You were in band, right? But then you quit?” Brendan asks, clearly already knowing the answer.

“Uh, yeah. I had an internship. I’m, uh, gonna go get some more water,” Peter says, gesturing to his empty bottle. He gets up and leaves before Brendan can say anything.

Peter’s nerves calm at the distance, and he takes a second to breathe and remind himself that MJ and Ned are there with him. Away from everyone else, Peter can’t help the wave of shame that washes over him at his anxiety.

He’s Spider-Man for god’s sake. And besides, Brendan hasn’t really done anything wrong.

Once his heart slows and he allows himself to relax, Peter goes back out with everyone else, this time choosing to sit on the floor, pointedly avoiding looking anywhere in Brandon’s direction.

Not ten minutes later, Peter jumps when he feels something nudge his shoulder. He looks up to find Brendan gesturing to him.

“Come sit over here!” he says, patting the spot Peter had vacated earlier.

Peter smiles weakly. “That’s okay, I’m chill right here, actually.”

Brendan just smiles with charm, tilting his head at him. “I insist. Everyone else, is drunk off their ass, we might as well band together.”

Peter looks around and sees that Brandon is right; not a single person is sober. Brendan technically isn’t either, Peter notes, eyeing his hand wrapped around a nearly empty bottle. He beckons Peter once again, and despite his brain screaming at him not to, Peter gets up to sit next to him.

This time, Brendan wraps an arm around Peter’s waist, and Peter very obviously tenses, nearly leaning over the armrest in his haste to escape the unwelcome grasp. Brendan either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because the arm doesn’t move.

Peter looks over at Ned and MJ helplessly, hoping to make eye contact with them, but they’re too far gone to notice his discomfort.

“So tell me about yourself,” Brendan says conversationally, drawing Peter out of his anxious thoughts.

“There’s, uh, not really much to say,” Peter mutters modestly. “I’m nice and boring.”

Brendan’s arm moves lower, hand now resting on Peter’s thigh, and Peter’s heart is in his throat, unwanted memories of Skip rising to the surface, but he pushes them down, telling himself he’s being ridiculous and making a big deal out of nothing.

“I don’t think you’re boring,” Brendan says. “I think you’re very interesting.”

Peter gives him an uncomfortable look. “How can you know I’m interesting if you don’t know anything about me?”

Brendan laughs. “I can just tell. Besides, you go to MIT, right? And you interned for Tony Stark. That’s pretty interesting.”

Peter just shrugs. “I guess.”

Brendan gives him a piercing look. “You should give yourself more credit,” he comments, and _oh god,_ his hand rubbing small circles into Peter’s thigh now and he _hates_ it. Peter pulls out the pillow he’s resting against and hugs it close to him, hoping Brendan will take the hint and stop touching him, but nothing happens.

“I give myself plenty of credit,” Peter mumbles.

Brendan just shakes his head. “It sure doesn’t sound like it. You’re a really great guy. I’d love to get to know you more. Would you like that?”

Peter’s just about to respond when he feels fingers slide up the hem of his shorts, and this time Peter can’t keep himself from shooting out of his spot, stammering.

“I, uh, s-sure. I need – I’m gonna go get some air,” he manages to get out around his closing throat, and without waiting for a response, he runs outside, gasping.

The unwanted memories are making an appearance now, despite Peter’s attempts to push them as far back as possible, and his breaths come out in short, panicked bursts.

 _Stupid stupid stupid,_ Peter thinks. _Pathetic. Can’t even handle a little touch._

His heart is clawing its way up his throat and god, why did he agree to this? This was such a bad idea. He doesn’t blame MJ or Ned though. He doesn’t even blame Brendan, really. Peter’s just an idiot who can’t handle the smallest of things.

Some hero he is.

* * *

The next day, Peter’s keyed up in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. Anxiety thrums through his veins, and he can’t stop fidgeting nervously, trying to shake off phantom touches that crawl across his skin.

Tony, of course, notices. From the moment the kid walks into his lab, he senses the anxiety that seems to roll off him in waves. Instead of pressing him for information, Tony just hands Peter the wire clippers and assigns him a task, hoping it’ll relax him enough to open up.

Since Peter’s been home on break, he’s hung out with Tony almost every day, content to tell his mentor everything he’s learning in classes that actually challenge him. Today, however, he’s completely silent.

A studious glance while his protégé is preoccupied tells Tony that the superhero’s mind is miles away, and Tony makes sure the tasks he gives him are so simple and methodical that Peter could accomplish them in his sleep.

After an hour or so, Tony looks over Peter’s shoulders. “Looking good, Pete,” he comments, unthinkingly clapping him on the shoulder. He immediately backtracks when Peter violently flinches away from him, breath picking up speed.

“Whoa,” Tony soothes, alarmed at the reaction. “It’s okay, Pete. It’s just me. Sorry, I should have warned you. Just breathe.”

Tony waits patiently, keeping his distance but hovering nearby as Peter struggles to control his breathing. He watches with concern as Peter’s hands start to shake as he holds the tool tightly.

After a few minutes, the vigilante seems to relax again, muttering an apology.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Tony says lowly, eyebrows furrowed with worry. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Peter shakes his head fiercely, turning his chair back to his desk to keep working, and Tony lets him, not wanting to push him.

Ten minutes later, Tony looks up and sees that Peter hasn’t made any move to keep working on his project. His leg his bouncing up and down with listless energy, and his mouth opens before he shakes his head, as if ordering himself not to speak. Tony just continues with his own project, knowing the kid will talk when he’s ready.

“Mr. Stark?” he hears eventually, and Tony feels inwardly relieved, hoping he’ll be able to find out what’s wrong with him.

“Yeah, Pete?” he responds, keeping his eyes on his own work so the boy won’t feel pressured.

“This is going to sound really stupid,” Peter says in a rush, unsure. “But, I just. It’s probably just me being overdramatic, you know? Overthinking it. Making a big deal out of nothing. Because I do that a lot.” Peter stops, letting out a shaky laugh and runs his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture.

He pauses, and Tony looks at him them, expression gentle. “It’s okay, Pete. It’s just you and me here.”

Peter lets out a stressed breath. “It’s so _stupid_ ,” he emphasizes again. “But I just. Is it – is it stupid to be upset when – god, I don’t know how to say this in a way that doesn’t make me sound ridiculous – but like. I don’t – I don’t really like touch from people I don’t know. It makes me uncomfortable?”

Peter’s shaking again, and Tony wants more than anything to wrap his arms around him and hold his steady, but he’s knows, considering the current topic, that his touch wouldn’t be welcome. Tony just nods encouragingly and waits for Peter to continue.

“So, this – this guy who went to my school – I was hanging out with him and a bunch of other people last night. And he, uh, put his hand around my waist, you know? And that’s, like, innocent enough. There’s nothing that wrong with it, right? And he’s very nice, kept checking up on me and making sure I was comfortable,” Peter explains.

And Tony doesn’t even have to hear the rest of the story to know that it’s going to make him want to see red. But knowing a violent reaction would make things worse, he keeps his face neutral.

“But like. We’d be talking, and his hands would just sort of wander? And I didn’t really like it, but I didn’t know how to tell him that because I didn’t want to seem rude, I guess. So, I tried getting away from him, but he’s got this – I don’t know – _gravity_ about him and convinced me to sit next to him again. So, I put a pillow in my lap and he, uh – he still put his hand on my thigh? A-And I,” Peter stops, running stressed hands through his hair again.

“I don’t know. I kept trying to shift away, and I thought that maybe if I was obvious enough, he’d take the hint and stop? But he didn’t? I didn’t want to cause a scene, because there were a lot of people, but then his – his hand went under the hem of my shorts, and – and all I could think of was Skip,” Peter says breathlessly, voice cracking at the end.

Tony’s heart constricts at the pain he hears in Peter’s voice, knowing it took a lot out of the kid to even say the monster’s name. Fury at what his kid’s been through rears in his chest, and Tony gets up to kneel in front of him.

“Hey, hey – Peter. Listen to me: that’s not stupid _at all._ No one should touch you without your consent, period. Especially since you were showing clear signs of discomfort. Physical barriers, like the pillow, and moving away from him are clear signs of discomfort. You shouldn’t have to verbally say no for him to understand the sentiment,” Tony says firmly.

Peter looks down, hands clenched tightly in his lap, biting his lip uncertainly.

“But I just feel like – what if that’s just normal? People casually touch each other all the time, right? Why should I freak out over something so small?” Peter questions in self-deprecation.

“No, Peter,” Tony protests gently but firmly. “Putting a hand on another’s thigh isn’t a casual gesture. And even if it was, you were clearly uncomfortable. He needed to stop. You did nothing wrong. You’re not stupid.”

Peter just continues to look down, tears pooling in his eyes.

“Peter,” Tony prompts. “Please look at me.”

He waits patiently for the boy to meet his eyes, cursing inwardly at the uncertain look he still finds there.

“Listen to me: you did _nothing_ wrong,” Tony emphasizes. He watches worriedly as Peter nods desperately, wanting more than anything to believe his mentor. He tries to swallow all the emotion that’s been swirling violently for the past twenty-four hours, but then his face crumples, and he lets out a wet sob, falling forward into Tony’s chest.

Tony catches him, hesitantly wrapping his arms around shaking body, searching for signs of comfort or resistance. But Peter just presses himself closer, bringing his arms up to cling to Tony as he cries into the crook of his neck. So Tony just pulls him as close as possible, shielding him from the world, grounding him.

“ _Tony,”_ Peter whines desperately, sounding lost and confused, and Tony could kill the guy who reduced him to this. Instead, Tony just brings a hand to the boy’s head, toying with his locks soothingly. Peter pushes into the gentle touch. _Safe,_ his mind supplies.

“I know, Peter, I know. I’ve got you,” Tony croons. He rests his cheek against the kid’s head.

And Peter, even though he’s an adult now, has never felt more like a child. He closes his eyes and allows himself to get lost in the sound of Tony’s heartbeat. Eventually, he relaxes in the safety his mentor’s arms, drifting off to sleep.

“FRIDAY?” Tony calls quietly, anger coursing through his veins.

“Yes, boss?”

“You know what to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes, can you guys tell I'm projecting again? It's taken me a hot second to work through these thoughts, so please think before commenting anything that might be insensitive. Just know that receiving unwanted touches is NEVER your fault, ever.
> 
> Please leave a comment or kudos and let me know what you think! And come scream at me on tumblr @the-great-escapism. (Please, I'm so lonely and love talking to people and would absolutely love to hear from you guys!) Thank you for reading!


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